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The thing about having a best friend you're desperately in love with is that every moment becomes an exercise in exquisite torture. Take, for instance, that one time when Scorpius spilt ink all over his Potions notes and Albus had been all-too-eager to lend him his, despite his atrocious handwriting.
"I could kiss you!" Scorpius beamed, clutching Albus's notes to his chest. "You're a life-saver!"
But before Albus's brain could fully process this earth-shattering statement, Scorpius was already halfway back to the Ravenclaw Common Room, calling over his shoulder, "I owe you one, mate!"
"I mean, who says that?" Albus later demanded of Tim during lunch, stabbing morosely at his shepherd's pie.
"It's a pretty common saying, dude," Tim replied, not looking up from his Transfiguration textbook.
"Yeah, but he was counting my eyelashes when he said it."
“Oh, well that’s completely—” Tim's fork clattered against his plate. "Wait, what?"
“He could kiss me,” Albus sighed dreamily, completely missing Tim's bewildered expression.
Tim opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again before finally muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "disaster gays" under his breath.
And then there was one particularly memorable afternoon watching the Ravenclaw Quidditch team practice:
Mind you, Albus wasn't a Quidditch fan—that particular Potter gene had gone to James and Lily. But Scorpius loved it, even maintaining THREE separate teams in the Official Hogwarts' Unofficial Fantasy Quidditch Leagues, so Albus—and by extension, a long-suffering Tim—found themselves regularly perched in the stands.
Not that Albus truly minded. Any time spent with Scorpius was time well spent, even if it meant enduring endless practice runs, drill repetitions, and Quidditch Captain Mordecai Berrycloth's increasingly creative expletives whenever something went wrong (which was often). None of which dampened Scorpius's enthusiasm as he cheered for every successful play like it was the World Cup Final.
At one particularly complex formation, Scorpius gasped and grabbed Albus's arm. "Did you see that, Al? Brilliant stuff!"
Albus did, in fact, see it. But now all he could focus on was the warmth of Scorpius's fingers wrapped around his bicep, and the way his thumb was absently tracing small circles against Albus's jumper.
Albus was too busy not-staring at Scorpius to notice the Bludger until the last possible second when Tim yelled out, “DUCK!” But by then, it was too late to react.
A flash of black hurtling towards him registered in his peripheral vision. Startled gasps from the stands. Albus’s hair ruffled by a speeding Bludger’s narrow miss. And a Scorpius face-first in Albus’s lap, in what Tim would later describe as "the most dramatic dodge in Hogwarts history,"
For a few heart-stopping seconds, everything froze: Scorpius’s hands clutching the front of Albus’s robes, his face buried alarmingly close to Albus’s—
—Nope. Don’t think about that. Breathe, Potter. Deep breaths. Albus tried to ignore the way his heart was hammering against his ribs and the way his trousers were growing tighter. Definitely don't think about that.
“Holy—are you—” Albus croaked, his voice catching in his throat as Scorpius blinked up at him, wide-eyed and red-faced.
“The Bludger is gone, Scorp,” Tim said, after what felt like an eternity.
"R-right," Scorpius stammered, scrambling back to his seat. His cheeks were flushed pink, and for one wild, wonderful moment, Albus's heart did a complicated little jig in his chest.
And then there was the Tie Incident:
"Your tie's crooked again," Scorpius said over breakfast, reaching across the table with the determination of someone about to defuse a particularly volatile potion. "How do you manage that? It's like you intentionally—hold still, Potter."
Albus froze, toast hovering halfway to his mouth, as Scorpius's fingers worked at his collar. He could feel Tim's knowing smirk burning into the side of his head without having to look.
"There!" Scorpius sat back, reviewing his handiwork, like an artist admiring their masterpiece. "Much better. Though I don't know why you keep letting it get so messy."
Because you always fix it, Albus thought but didn't say. Because for those five precious seconds, I get to pretend...
Once Scorpius had turned back to his animated discussion with Thracius Davis about the nuanced ethics presented in Magical Consent and Polyjuice Potions: An Identity Ethics Debate by Isadora Morris-Snodgrass, Albus caught Tim's eye and mouthed, "Don't."
Tim raised his hands in mock surrender and mouthed back, "I haven't said anything!"
"You're thinking it very loudly."
"I'm just noting," Tim whispered, leaning in close enough that his words wouldn't carry, "that for someone who claims this is totally platonic friendship, you seem awfully focused on—"
Albus "accidentally" knocked over Tim's pumpkin juice. These things happen.
Later that evening, the Ravenclaw Common Room was packed tighter than a Gringotts vault, with hardly a spare cushion in sight. So really, Scorpius using Albus's lap as a makeshift pillow while reading was just... practical. Logical, even. Completely ordinary best friend behavior given the circumstances.
Tim, sprawled in a nearby armchair, executed what had to be his fifteenth theatrical eye-roll of the evening. Completely unnecessary, that.
Scorpius shifted position to turn a page in his Charms textbook, and Albus's entire existence ground to a halt. Time stretched like a Spell-O-Tape that had been pulled too far—had it been seven seconds or seven years since he'd last drawn breath? He couldn't quite tell, not when his brain was too busy wondering what Scorpius's lips might taste like after his evening cup of cinnamon apple tea.
Merlin's pants. Perhaps Tim's eye-rolling wasn't entirely without merit this time.
"I need my Arithmancy notes," Scorpius announced suddenly, sitting up with the energy of someone who'd just remembered they'd left their wand in the Great Hall. "Left them in the dorm. Don't let anyone steal my spot."
He bounded up the spiral staircase, leaving Albus's lap feeling oddly cold and Tim looking insufferably pleased with himself.
"I can hear you overthinking from here," Tim drawled from his armchair once Scorpius was safely out of earshot.
"I'm not overthinking. I'm reading about..." Albus glanced down at his book. "Goblin rebellions."
"That's your Transfiguration textbook."
"There could be goblin rebellions in it. You don't know."
"Your book's upside down."
Albus looked at the inverted text and lifted his chin with all the dignity he could muster. "I'm just that brilliant. I am in Ravenclaw, after all."
"I swear to Merlin, Potter," Tim said, leaning forward in his chair, "when he gets back, you're going to tell him."
"I'm really not."
"You are. Before I lose what's left of my sanity."
"But—"
"I mean it, Potter," Tim said, his voice carrying that stern tone he usually reserved for when first-years tried to feed chocolate frogs to the Thestrals. "I’ve made a list of—"
"Oooh, list? What list?” Scorpius asked absently, materializing beside them with his notes in hand.
"Nothing!" Albus yelped, much too quickly. "Just Tim being... American."
"Ah." Scorpius nodded sagely, as if this explained everything. Then he reclaimed his spot on Albus’s lab. He wriggled to get comfortable and Albus's brain temporarily short-circuit. "You're really warm today," he added, reaching up to rest the back of his hand on Albus's cheek. "Are you feeling alright?"
"Fine!" Albus squeaked. "Completely fine. Just... thinking."
"That's new," Tim muttered into his own textbook.
"About?" Scorpius rolled onto his back, looking up at Albus with those impossibly grey eyes that reminded him of storm clouds just before lightning struck.
About how much I love being your pillow. About how much I want to kiss you. About how your hair smells like rain and parchment and everything good in the world—
"Goblin rebellions," Albus said weakly.
"In your Transfiguration book?"
"He's very committed to interdisciplinary studies," Tim deadpanned, not looking up from his own actual studying.
Scorpius laughed—that full, genuine laugh that made his nose scrunch up and his eyes crinkle at the corners in a way that made Albus's heart try to perform a perfect Wronski Feint in his chest.
Tomorrow, Albus thought. I’ll definitely tell him tomorrow.
As it turned out, 'tomorrow' brought with it Double Charms with the Hufflepuffs, and Albus had more pressing matters to worry about—like not accidentally setting anything on fire. Again.
Dozens of crystal shards hovered above the desks in the Charms classroom, catching the afternoon light and changing them in prismatic patterns like rainbows across the stone walls. Each crystal rotated slowly, occasionally chiming against its neighbors with a sound like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. Professor Flitwick had promised to explain what they were for, but most students suspected they were just there because the tiny professor enjoyed pretty things.
Albus and Tim sat near the middle of the room, while Scorpius occupied the table just behind them, far enough that Flitwick wouldn't suspect them plotting mischief, but close enough to actually plot mischief.
Though at the moment, Scorpius was too busy frantically searching his bag for his textbook to plot anything.
"Now then, class!" Professor Flitwick's squeaky voice carried across the classroom as he balanced precariously atop his usual stack of books. The crystals above his desk twinkled particularly brightly, as if responding to his enthusiasm. "Today we'll be learning about spell timing through the Echo Charm. First, observe—”
The tiny professor reached up and gently tapped the nearest crystal with his wand. A pure, bell-like ping resonated through the room, causing several students to sit up straighter in their seats. It was a sound that could be felt as much as heard—though not painfully so.
"And now," he continued with a flourish, "Echo Lachare" He tapped the crystal again, but this time nothing happened immediately. Three seconds later, the same crystalline ping echoed through the classroom, slightly distorted as if coming from underwater.
"You see?" he beamed at the class. "The Echo Charm demonstrates one of the fundamental principles of advanced spellcasting: the separation between casting and effect. Miss Chang, could you tell us why this might be useful in practical applications?"
As Sarah Chang launched into an explanation that would have made her Ravenclaw mother proud, Albus slumped in his seat, already dreading the practical portion of the lesson. Behind him, Scorpius Malfoy was frantically flipping through their textbook. Neither were very good at Charms.
"Now then, everyone! The wand movement is a swift downward stroke, followed by a counter-clockwise spiral. The tighter your spiral, the shorter the delay between cast and effect. Begin!"
The classroom was soon filled with a cacophony of incantations and delayed pings—some immediate, some not happening at all.
"I think you're jabbing too much," Tim said, demonstrating the motion, having finally perfected his echo after the fifth try. "It's more like you're conducting an orchestra, not stabbing a dragon."
Albus tried again, this time focusing on keeping his movements fluid. To his surprise, his textbook produced a soft thud—only thirty seconds after he'd cast the spell.
"Well done, Mr Potter!" Flitwick called out. "Keep practicing that wrist movement!"
Someone in the back of the room sniggered at "wrist movement," only to be silenced by Scorpius's patented "Malfoy Glare"—a look originated by his father but elevated and perfected by Scorpius after years of dealing with the Weasley-Granger brood.
Scorpius, meanwhile, was having his own misadventures in sound production. His first attempt at tapping the crystal produced a delayed noise like an angry car horn, causing several students to duck reflexively. His second try somehow transformed the crystal's delicate ping into a duck's quack that echoed through the room five times before finally fading.
"Just... one more try," he muttered, his face now matching the pink crystal above his desk. He cast the charm again and tapped the crystal with perhaps a bit too much force. The resulting delayed sound was unmistakably flatulent, causing the entire class to burst into laughter. Even Flitwick had to pretend to be examining something fascinating on the ceiling while he composed himself.
"Perhaps, Mr Malfoy," Flitwick said kindly once order was restored, "you might benefit from some additional tutoring?"
"I'll help him, Professor," came a voice from the back of the room.
Mid-enchantment, Albus turned to see the one person in all of Hogwarts he'd rather not see anywhere near Scorpius—Geoff Creevey. Sixth-year prefect and resident Hogwarts Hufflepuff Heartthrob, with his perfect skin and perfect hair and perfect shoulders and that perfect bloody smile that made half the school swoon—Merlin's beard, that smile.
The crystal above Albus's desk shattered.
Just like his hopes of ever having that first kiss with Scorpius.